


The Bombardment

by Ash_Cassidy97



Series: Christmas 2014 [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Character Study, Coffee, Drug Addiction, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I worry about Spencer Reid and his coffee intake and red eyes, Insomnia, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reid has Issues, Sherlock Holmes would be BFFs with Reid-and that's how This happened, Sleep Deprivation, The cannon basically hates Reid and I want to know why, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Which is ironic, coffee adiction, or well- reid can't have nice things. Seriously. The cannon hates him.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Cassidy97/pseuds/Ash_Cassidy97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes often struggles with turning his brain off, which is why he turned to drugs. So I wondered about Reid, the effects of drugs on his mind., and how it might feel to think at the rate that he does. Also, does anyone else see how tired his eyes look? And this is what I came up with. It’s rough, short, and more or less linear, but I kind of went without sleep, and did fanfiction so yeah.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Any and all better suggestions for a summary will be taken under advisement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bombardment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morbidcassanova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidcassanova/gifts), [and anybody else that Just Can't Sleep at 2am](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=and+anybody+else+that+Just+Can%27t+Sleep+at+2am).



The problem with having a brain like mine is that it doesn’t turn _off_. There is no magical “off” switch that I can trigger for sleep. People don't seem to understand that while I can read very fast, I have to read all the time. Entertaining my brain is like controlling five two year-olds on a sugar high, and all you have to offer is brussel sprouts. Eventually, the child will get sick of the sprouts, and start banging on the walls. Only, there isn't a way to put the child in a corner when its in your own brain, and there is only so much time before they throw a tantrum.

 

I don't mean to pour out facts like a volcano erupting. I don't mean to get stared at by people. Who wants to get stared at for being different? I do it on accident. My brain is so full of this information, and I keep thinking that if I pour everything out then I can finally stop thinking about **every _single_ word**. Whenever, my brain thinks it found something useful, out it comes. I think my team has just adapted. They no longer stare when I get rolling. They just shhh me when I go too far, and explain when a person questions me or starts to stare. I get the feeling that my run-down of statistics and odd facts is comforting to an extent for my team. If I’m telling them information that is more factoral than what they have, they seem to think it’s a sign that I'm functioning correctly. But it’s just exhausting. Only a complete narcissist would like their own voice droning on and on about facts, even if it’s just inside my own mind.

 

So finding something that helped with harming myself was amazing. Perfect. Excellent. ** _It has yet to happen_**. All I have is the work with the BAU, another excuse to not sleep. To not surrender myself to my unconscious brain, to simply let go, to not think. So I sit up all night reading obscure books, trying to not remember the bodies (I can't forget. I can't forget the words of the reports, and the images the words trigger), and drink coffee the next day. My team is the best, they joke about my coffee intake, and never never laugh at me in a cruel way. I think they already know, in a way, and don't want to force me to talk about it.

 

I know I worried my team after Tobias. They started noticing when I drank too much coffee(which is a large amount since I know I consume more than the average person-9 ounces- I consume 24.), or stayed awake on a long plane flight. But couldn't they understand that I couldn't sleep, mustn't sleep? If I stopped to process the experience, then I could never forget it (I won't forget it- not ever). I wanted to scream at them that I was coping the best way I could, but I think they already knew, and knew to wait for me to ask for help. My team knows me. They know that I'm not good at receiving help, and know that any attempts to offer it will be ignored. I wish they were wrong. I wish I could put down my shield of words, and let them in just a little more. But I can't, not when the nightmare is so fresh in my brain to the point where I can’t focus.

 

The drugs help. They dumb my brain down so I can barely process on a minimal level, and that in itself is scary. Not Thinking is just as scary as Thinking Too Much. But, I keep myself functioning. The team needs me. They need my brain, even if it’s flooded with drugs to calm it down. It is like a balm to my brain. Tobias was too much to process. There were no words to read, no facts to simplify the chance of a bullet going through my head or being that helpless. The rest of the team has been leaving me alone, and I am hopeful that they haven't notice, only to realize how ignorant that is. They notice, and don’t care. That’s not fair, but it’s all I can think of right now (Rationally, I know that they are scared of me, because they don’t know how to handle me anymore. The facts don't just protect me: why do you think that people would become profilers and have to know everything about a person?).

 

But the drugs destroy me. I can't think. No, that’s incorrect: I can think, but I can't think right anymore. My brainpower has slowed to having to use crutches when you used to be the fastest runner in town. The drugs destroy my brain, the organ that I hate, and love. My brain is like an annoying, large cat: feed me, pet me, and entertain me. I stop the drugs. I won't go into detail about the drugs. Having your brain come back on to full power after being almost completely off is like  . . .well, you can't really imagine, can you? **It burns**.

 

My team eases off. They start relaxing again. They don't notice the amount of pain that my brain causes me.(They never have-I think.) It hurts to process that amount of information, can't people understand that? It hurts just as much to give it up. It hurts to surrender to the nightmares again, to wake up screaming every night with words written in blood seared into my mind without the bitter kiss of drugs to lessen the pain. I dream in words now, bloody words that echo back the victims’ pleas for help.

  
But I try.I try not not worry about the high probability of ending up in a mental institute by the age of forty-five. I try so hard: to do the right thing, to not break down and scream. I try so hard to stand up against the horror of humanity, and still be sane at the end of the day. I don't need my team to worry about me. I am already the youngest, the baby. I don't want them to suffer with me as I try to withstand the bombardment of my own mind. I am glad that only I feel this way. Nobody deserves this fear, this rackus chorus of gunshots, clambering around in your head, pinging of the sides of your skull. _**I know what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind.**_

**Author's Note:**

> I might add to this on a later date, but it is complete, until another 2am session of Criminal Minds. Also, to get the best dreams, watch Criminal Minds at 2am. I will say that I am proud of this, because I find it easy to empathize with, and that it hit over 1K, which is kinda awesome, because I haven't found Reid to be very prolific about himself.


End file.
